


Call It Fate, Call It Karma

by ken_ichijouji (dommific)



Series: Vodka Infused with a Dash of Bitters [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bad Customers, Comedy, Korean BBQ, M/M, Mood Board, POV Phichit Chulanont, Sass, Wingman Phichit Chulanont, You better work bitch, one is jimothy though, the chad harem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 21:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15105524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dommific/pseuds/ken_ichijouji
Summary: Phichit hates being the smartest person in the room, but his coworkers are thirsty dinguses and thus he must bear this cross.





	Call It Fate, Call It Karma

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EverythingandAnything](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverythingandAnything/gifts).



>  
> 
>   
> [Soundtrack here on Spotify.](https://open.spotify.com/user/12168581471/playlist/091tI3OPknWVtnBQJUQ06g?si=gl3COC_mQRmrMJv2AFQmsg)  
> 

It’s just one of them days.

“This doesn’t look like a sandwich,” a woman tells Phichit with less irony than he previously thought possible. He works for Yakov Feltsman so he knows what a complete lack of irony feels like. This is a new low, so low it’s probably buried with some wealthy Manhattan gadfly along with a hoard of heirloom jewels and their daddy issues.

Phichit puts on the smile. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you mean?”

The late night special is a fried tofu open-faced ditty, like a vegan take on a tonkatsu sandwich that Yuuri kind of closed his eyes and shook his head at a few times when they tried it for the pre-shift meeting. The aura of disappointment covered him like he was shrouded in actual darkness.

Probably if Emil had billed it differently Yuuri wouldn’t find it so offensive to his widdle heart, but no one gets their way all of the time.

“It’s a sandwich,” Phichit says with a head tilt. “It’s open-faced, which means it’s hot, and presented this way so it’s easier to use your utensils...”

“But it doesn’t… _look_ like a sandwich,” the woman says a second time.

Her dining companion sighs. “Doreen —”

“I just…thought it’d _look_ like a sandwich? Like that —“ She points to a customer eating the truffle grilled cheese.

Phichit doesn’t often let guests get to him but this is, for lack of a better word, _goddamn wild._ “Would you like me to bring back the menu and get you something different?”

“Well I don’t want to inconvenience anyone,” she suddenly sniffs, and Phichit becomes angry with rage.

“Doreen,” the woman tries again. She smiles at Phichit. It is the smile of someone apologizing on behalf of a person with no self-awareness. “Can you swap this for the grilled cheese?”

“Of course,” Phichit offers with about eighty pounds of false cheer. “Fries on the side okay?”

“I just—“ Doreen freezes at the look in her friend’s eyes. “Yes.”

Phichit smiles. “I’ll make sure it’s brought to you right away, and I apologize the special’s not to your liking.” He sashays into the kitchen, where Victor happens to be exiting out of one of the walk-ins. “Victor, can you take this off 503’s bill and ring in a truffle cheese on the fly?”

Victor holds a bottle of Krug that a guest must have ordered, hence the alternate cooler. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It doesn’t _look like a sandwich_.” Phichit mimics in a voice between Dame Edna and Vicky Lawrence. He’s too young for either of those, but Nick at Night TV Land is a helluva drug when sick.

Victor stares blankly at him for almost an entire minute. “What.”

Phichit outstretches both arms, sets the untouched plate in the dishpit for the workers, shrugs, and says, “Please.”

Victor sighs. “I’ve heard stuff in my day but this is… new.” He grins. His smile is luminous, shaped like a heart, and Phichit almost puts on sunglasses to try and deal. “What a nice surprise!”

Phichit flattens his mouth and nods.

Victor is weird.

He’s only been here three weeks, but that’s long enough for Phichit to know that he’s weird, and since two of Phichit’s coworkers are Georgi and Yuuri, Phichit _definitely_ knows weird _._ Phichit is so intimate with weird he may as well have standing sexual encounters with it, kicking back in bed after with a Marlboro Red and Jason Derulo on repeat thanks to Alexa.

Victor tells the line he needs the new meal on the fly, and Phichit thanks him for serving his nation. They walk back to the bar together, and after Victor does a visit with Doreen and her buddy to smooth the ruffled feathers and so on, he gets back to the guest who wanted the Krug.

For a Friday night and given their location, it’s a bit slow, but it’s also the time of year where everyone dips to the Hamptons or Martha’s Vineyard for their weekend fun. To be expected, though not ideal for anyone’s bank account at Grand Prix.

Yuuri does his sidework. Poorly. Incredibly so, because dude can’t stop watching Victor move like he’s under some kind of spell. Maybe Yuuri thinks Victor is Narcissus since half the time when they share shifts, all he can manage is echoing Victor’s words.

“Yuuri,” Phichit begins. “Don’t cut yourself, okay?”

“Mm,” Yuuri says as he watches Victor bring Doreen her new sandwich, making sure she takes bites, that she’s in love with it, and then goes back to the rest of their work.

After shaking his head, Phichit grabs a bottle of San Pellegrino. He hands it to Yuuri with a glass and a lime wedge.

“What’s this?” Yuuri asks when he’s smacked in the chest with them.

“You look a little _thirsty,_ ” Phichit quips.

Yuuri sets the bottle and glass on the counter. Then he shrinks down so he can bury his face in his arms on the edge of the bar top. “Tell me I’m not obvious.”

“Obvious doesn’t do you justice, I think.” Phichit ponders as he tries to decide what he wants that night for super late dinner. New Wonjo’s twenty-four seven, and he hasn’t had KBBQ in… far too long. “Wanna go to Herald Square when we’re out?”

“I need to eat my feelings,” Yuuri says with the self-loathing of a Congressman caught blowing his intern after writing some anti-gay legislation.

“Is that a yes?” Phichit likes all of his relationships to be clear on where they stand. This includes translating Yuuri’s dramatics.

“Yes,” Yuuri says. His spirit is broken. His eyes are full of longing.

To be quite honest, Phichit doesn’t get it. Victor’s pretty in that too-perfect _my hair pomade cost $200_ way, but he’s not worth Yuuri’s mental stability. His cocktails are incredibly creative and delicious without falling into that stupid shit like dry ice, but he’s just… a guy. A guy who makes them listen to circa 2004 pop-garage-rock on the sound system like “Mr. Brightside,” who uses the thinnest openings to brag about his poodle or to talk way too long about tangentially related trivia that Phichit, Sara, and Chris all kind of pretend to care about.

 _Did you know,_ the one tonight began while Phichit just wanted to fill garnishes. _A ‘jiffy’ is a unit of time for 1/100th_ _a second?_

Victor’s a good egg, but he’s without a doubt too strange for Phichit to stick his dick into. If Yuuri ever gets his shit together, then he’ll be sure to tearfully dedicate a toast to them at their ceremony.

Wait.

Victor comes back behind the bar with an iPad to check inventory and see what needs ordering before Monday. “Victor—“ Phichit begins. “Are you hungry, by chance?”

The look on Yuuri’s face is filled with incandescent fury and betrayal. A patron at a high-top flags them for refills, and like a summer storm rolling out to sea, he stalks off, all smiles and kindness when he takes their orders.

“I don’t know, it’s kind of late,” Victor says without looking up. His cheekbones are infuriatingly highlighted by the lamps above.

“I was going to head to New Wonjo for some KBBQ,” Phichit continues.

“Hm,” Victor says.

Phichit raises an eyebrow and pops an edible orchid into his mouth. “Yuuri’s coming, and so I thought—”

Victor snaps his head up. “Yuuri?” His eyes become neon hearts above a Vegas Chapel. Phichit can practically hear his pulse race, and he definitely doesn’t miss Victor’s gaze immediately honing in on Yuuri the way Yuuri’s always does him. “Ah well I have to… Makkachin needs a walk, but I can come by a little late?”

Phichit suddenly remembers how every time Yuuri does anything and can’t see Victor, Victor basically looks like some dude in the French Foreign Legion crawling through the shittiest parts of Algeria with only a camel and his REM deprivation insanity for company.

Like that ubiquitous GIF of Kim Kardashian’s slow-forming Grinch smile, so too does Phichit get ideas. “Yeah. Yuuri’s coming. You should join us. _He’d love you_ to especially.”

Victor’s eyes are full of sparkles. He looks at Yuuri, who is committing murder using his devastating smile and boyish sex appeal. The table consists of five men who are very gay and very smitten. Victor looks about 33% jealous and 67% gay as well. Yuuri’s leaning forward talking to one of the dudes and laughing at some kind of not-really-funny customer joke, but tips are tips and bills need paying. The guy thinks Yuuri hung the moon, and as he walks away his buddies are all telling him to get the digits.

Yuuri makes their drinks, a round of Old Fashioneds with Rye. He grabs a drink tray, takes them back to the bros, and the one with the red hair the others keep egging on tries to get Yuuri to sit down.

Phichit left Bronx Science five years ago, but watching Jimothy hit on Yuuri, Yuuri pretending to be into it, and Victor looking like he may cry over his cracked heart transports him right back to passing notes and _do you like me check yes or no_ _except no’s not available ‘cause I rigged it._

Victor sighs as he checks the time on his indigo Hermés Apple Watch. He then grabs the mallet and hits their gong. “Last call!” Victor shouts with far too much relief for it to be about getting his grub on.

Yuuri hands Jimothy his check, but Jimothy slides in a black, metal credit card before he heads back to the bar. Yuuri runs the card, drops it back at the table, and Jimothy watches him go like he’s never seen true beauty in his life.

Chad, Brad, et cetera file out and Jimothy pauses by the bar to kiss Yuuri’s hand as he goes. Victor’s smile freezes until Jimothy leaves, and Yuuri has a $50 in his palm. Phichit slings an arm around his shoulders before he takes the garnishes to the cooler. “Drinks are on you at KBBQ.”

Yuuri laughs. “Yeah, I guess.”

The bar is clean, stocked, and the lights are dim, the kitchen closed long before, and they lock up. Victor puts his hands in his jacket pockets. “What time?”

Yuuri stares.

Phichit smiles. “It’s 2:42…so 4:00?”

“Sounds good, see you there,” Victor says. He gives Yuuri a smile, making sure to lock their eyes. “You too, Yuuri.”

Yuuri says something in his native tongue until Phichit slaps him upside the head. “Uh…yeah! Sure.”

“See you in a bit,” Phichit says to Victor as he steers Yuuri to St. Marks before they go to Koreatown. Phichit’s flat is on the way, Yuuri’s isn’t, but Yuuri keeps spare clothes including jammies for just such occasions. They change into non-black jeans, non-black shirts, and Phichit changes his shoes out for his Apple Green docs. Yuuri’s SOL in that area, but no one will notice his brogues are non-slick.

Phichit elects to use an Uber since it’s off-peak. The driver is cool, has an Escalade, and lets them control the soundtrack. Yuuri does the tell-tale fidgeting when he’s in a low key anxiety spiral, and Phichit sighs.

They beat Victor but since Phichit doesn’t know where he lives, that’s not a big deal. The place isn’t super packed, but it’s busy enough they have a slight wait. Right as Phichit puts them on the list, Victor shows up in his buttery leather jacket, a button up-shirt in jewel-toned teal, and incredibly painted on jeans.

Yuuri looks as though he’s ascending in the awkwardest way possible. Victor looks at Yuuri like he has that weird soft-focus ring from those old Star Trek episodes they’d use on the ladies.

Their table’s ready, and they sit. After ordering several rounds of dumplings to start, they choose the Meat Mania BBQ for 3, and Yuuri honors his promise of buying them a decent bottle of sake. Kimchi and all the other trappings cover their entire table before long.

“So,” Phichit begins. “Victor. Have you shown Yuuri your dog… sorry… what’s her name?”

“Makkachin!” Victor beams. He pulls out his iPhone, then hesitates. “I mean, if Yuuri wants to see her, I don’t want to bor—“

“I’d love to!” Yuuri blurts, then turns redder than the kimchi, then hides his face behind his cat-eared beanie. Yuuri chugs his sake mostly in a bid to retain his final shreds of dignity.

Victor lights up. “Let me show you her Gotcha Day! She had pink ribbons on!”

They pour over the album, and Phichit seizes the opportunity to bogart all the remaining dumplings as their platters of beef, pork, and chicken arrive. They begin with the gal bi and the bul goki, opting to do the pork and chicken second while they eat the rest. Longer cooking times, no one likes food poisoning, and such.

Phichit likes his meat almost rare, Yuuri is more of a medium-rare, and Victor chooses to follow Yuuri’s lead. They eat their food when it’s done to their preferences, and Yuuri makes an obscene sound in his throat when he bites into a piece of gal bi.

Victor stares at him, transfixed with zero shame.

Phichit swallows some kimchi. “That’s Yuuri’s _hot beef injection_ sound.”

“Phichit,” Yuuri berates him.

Phichit ignores his friend, wagging his eyebrows at Victor. “We shared a flat when I first came on board at Grand Prix. I know that sound _super_ well.”

Victor pulls on his collar and sits a different way. Yuuri looks murderous. Phichit thinks of all the mornings he’d find some poor, unfortunate puppy in their kitchen looking for Yuuri. He has a cork board in his closet of the selfies he took with them Yuuri somehow never noticed hung over his desk when they shared a place.

Bless the fine people at Social Print Studio and the deals they offer on mini-prints. The next time they have a discount on coffee table books he may take them up on it. Though, this may turn into Phichit taking shocked selfies when he catches Victor and Yuuri banging in the wine cellar, if the pheromones Victor gives off are any indicator.

“Do you… like squid?” Yuuri asks. His smile is boyish and hopeful.

“Yes,” Victor says in a tone meant to coax Yuuri out of his shell.

Yuuri passes him the bowl, and they both reach in with their chopsticks, grabbing the same bits of squid. It’s like a modernized, weirder _Lady and the Tramp_ spaghetti scene. Yuuri blushes and Victor moves his utensils for different pieces.

Phichit hogs the anchovies across from them and watches the awkward ass o’clock mating dance. Victor showered, he realizes since bits of his hair still look damp, and he’s decked out like some kind of bowerbird. He gives Yuuri little touches here or there, and Yuuri doesn’t shrug them off, but he doesn’t return them either.

Granted Yuuri’s not a huge hugger or anything. Ciao Ciao’s had to step in once when a former regular got too handsy with Yuuri below the belt. Chris and Sara helped, and the dude’s never come back.

Men suck, Phichit says, thinking of his last relationship before he graduated Columbia. Still though, he thinks as he looks at Yuuri slowly open under Victor’s attentions like a spring flower blossoming for the season, men as a genre may suck.

Love itself, even if it’s someone else’s burgeoning, budding romance, _doesn’t_.

**Author's Note:**

> Commissioned by Liz! 
> 
> I made this a series specifically so I can use different POVs. Victor is likely next. 
> 
> When Phichit is a little shit, he's my fave. It's canon, you know? He's like the sun in that bright but also will burn your ass.
> 
> I haven't had KBBQ in so long. *sob*
> 
> Title from the song by the Strokes. Beta'ed by thehobbem!


End file.
